


Unpreventable

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things that, no matter how you'd like to stop them, simply cannot be prevented.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unpreventable

As always, it was all a blur of action; too much happening with so many tiny things getting in the way. Humans had such a disgusting habit of throwing themselves into the path of things entirely too capable of destroying them, but as there were such a lot of them, Carrion assumed a few dead didn’t matter to those who survived. They certainly didn’t mind killing one another, as his research had shown. They racked up scores like children playing games, even though murder was considered a crime by their hypocritical society.

Carrion hated hypocrisy. It made things all too complicated to follow, turning the straight forward into a tangle of ‘ _but-really’_ s and ‘ _except-then_ ’s . So while there was little satisfaction to destroying a single human life (after all, there were just an illogical number of them, so what did the loss of a few dozen matter?) he did find a certain delectation in destroying their mechanized toys.

Humans weren’t really meant to fly, and it was almost embarrassingly easy to overwhelm their air forces. A stupid enemy made a great target, and Starscream trusted him enough to leave him to this task while he went after the main human troops and the Witwicky boy.  He had taken great pleasure from his Commander’s vote of confidence, however vaguely voiced, and had redoubled his efforts to finish off the poorly flown jets, hoping to rejoin the older seeker all the sooner.

It wasn’t by chance that Starscream was Air Commander of the Decepticon; he was infamous among humans and Autobots alike for his brutality, feared by Decepticons for his ambition and malice. No one stood against him for very long without feeling a great deal of pain for it, and that even went for Megatron, who was still somehow (frustratingly) their supposed leader.  

What Carrion expected, then, as he rushed to rejoin his Commander, was to find Starscream in control of the situation, the Witwicky boy hopefully either _finally_ dead, or else well on his way there. Perhaps Starscream would find it useful to offer the boy to Megatron for disposal, but Carrion rather hoped not. The fleshling had caused far more irritation to the older jet than he had ever provided Megatron.

Never would it have occurred to him to find anything else. Certainly he never thought he’d find Starscream wounded, panicked, and under siege.

Like most mechs, Carrion was capable of experiencing a wide range of emotion. What separated him from the majority of Decepticons was that he understood and embraced a far greater spectrum of these sentiments. He responded to feelings other than pleasure with more than violence and anger. He could laugh at things that weren’t the death of his enemies.

It had always been an asset to him, a point of some pride; he was adaptable and flexible in a way that most of his fellows simply were not.

Yet it was also probably the main source of discord in his life. It left him open to attacks in a completely different way than he imagined any other Decepticon would even imagine. A normal mech of his brand would have fled, or gone on attacking, had they seen what he was witnessing. They would never have stopped in their tracks, processor already firing the only outcome of the actions done against his Commander.

Because he knew, instantly, what was happening. His mind fought against the obvious conclusion, trying to convince him that it was just some kind of needle, just a cheap shot at a mech’s weakest area; it would hurt Starscream and possibly cause him to lose his quarry, but nothing fatal. No one was disturbed enough to put a bomb in someone’s optic.

The Witwicky boy was still caught, dangling from something that was, revoltingly, somehow hooked on the innards of Starscream’s other optic. Carrion felt his engine stutter as if coming to a stop as he watched his Commander flail in agony and anxiety, the orbit of his ruined optic under  horrible strain to support the human, while in his remaining optic the stick-like thing continued to blink ominously.

He wanted so badly to move forward, to _do_ something when the larger jet clawed clumsily at his optic, trying hopelessly to dislodge the weapon stuck there. Carrion wished savagely that his claws would at least catch the stupid, troublesome human and put an end to him, but there was little in the way of justice, it seemed. The boy lived, even when Starscream’s frustration and anxiety got the best of him and he actually dived into the street, trying to scrape his face against the rough concrete to get rid of the horrifying thing driven into his optic.

Watching nearly destroyed him; the sight of his Commander; in his mind, always tall and strong and steady; reduced to a flailing, panicked wreck made his spark tighten and ache. And yet, he thought stupidly, it would be over soon, Starscream would stabilize past the pain and fright of what was happening, and they would escape.

More humans poured onto the scene, insectile and infuriating in their number, all trying to free the one still hanging grotesquely from the older jet’s dead optic. Desperate now, Starscream launched himself on top of another building, trying to escape the humans and their wretched, irritating weapons. Carrion had time to notice two things: another human was now clinging to his Commander, and the weapon lodged in his optic was blinking a rapid, telltale warning.

After that, his was too busy screaming to keep track of the specifics. The sound started out as just verb-less negation,  and like the explosion that drew it from him, it seemed to go on forever. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t bring himself to put his optics on anything else; they were frozen on the brilliant flash, sparks and light shooting from where the explosive ignited. The conflagration obscured everything, sending chunks of helm and armor flying into the street.

Yet, he forced himself to think as he took a step forward, perhaps in spite of appearances the explosion hadn’t done the worst damage. Perhaps it had only taken surface structure, leaving the processor intact. Painful, ungodly painful, and Starscream would be blind, but Carrion could help him escape this, would be able to fix him when they were again safe.

For all that he could laugh without malice and tried to make light of dire moments, Carrion was at heart a pessimist. He wanted so badly to push aside the horror of that sight, to forget his sickness and fear and _believe_ what he was imagining could happen.

Even before the smoke cleared, he knew it would never be true. That horrible sound was still forcing itself from him, tearing from his throat without thought, and that was okay, because the sight of his Commander now was well deserving of it.  The explosion hadn’t taken Starscream’s head off, but it might have been better if it had. What was left was less than half of the wide jet’s helm, leaving the pit of his stabbed optic  and the shattered remains of his lower jaw.

It would only be fair if the humans were dead as well, but no… no, he could see them, even as he started to move toward the tottering wreck of his Commander, still horribly alive and about to fall. And let them, let gravity have them. It was what they’d earned. He hated them as he’d rarely hated anything, as he’d _never_ hated before.

A blur of yellow from the right, and the Autobot scout swept in, grabbing the humans as the fell and sparing them the gruesome demise they so thoroughly deserved.

Shaking with rage, he couldn’t even bring himself to aim his cannon and try firing at them. He couldn’t even be bothered to watch them making their escape, too busy was he watching Starscream’s body collapse unceremoniously back to the ground, life finally extinguished from him. Only then was he capable of forcing himself to move, as if the horrible squall of dead metal flipped a switch in him.

Powering his jets, he made short the distance between them, ignoring the disgusting crunch and squish of an unfortunate human soldier under his foot. He crouched low, engine revving painfully as his spark wrenched at the sight of the ruined heap that was his Commander. His claws hovered over the other’s armor, optics franticly searching for some sign that this wasn’t _real_ , that something could be _salvaged_. But there was nothing here, no hope to be found.

His Commander’s name left him weakly, plaintively, his claws finally settling on one of the older jet’s shoulders. It was more than obvious that Starscream was already long gone, the final moment of horror cumulated in an agonizing death, but he couldn’t help repeating himself, almost choking on the word.

The moment of painful reflection was short-lived, however. He was still in battle, still on enemy turf, and the humans had begun to fire at him. Their bullets stung a little, and they were aimed for his wings, as if they meant to try grounding him. At first he intended to ignore them, indulging in his grief, but his wounded spark quickly boiled with ire at the audacity of the miniscule fleshlings and their refusal to give him a moment’s piece.

In a quick, angry gesture, he turned and rose to his full height, claw flipping back into cannon and aimed at the group of soldiers. His mouth peeled back with a snarl, hate burning in his eyes, but he was only able to fire once before the high whine of another cannon caused him to pause. Without looking, he knew the other weapon was aimed at him.

Turning his glare toward the direction the Autobot had fled – and, Carrion had thought, truly run off to save his pet humans any further trauma – he found himself staring into the yellow mech’s cannon, aimed at his chest. There was a moment of hesitation, his optics brightening with malice as he calculated his options, but in the end he knew he’d come out the worst for the battle.

Starscream had said once that the universe favored those who persisted, those smart enough to lay in wait and strike when the odds were on their side.

With a growl of outrage, not wanting to leave his Commander but knowing there was no other course, he twisted up and away into his jet form, seeking the safety of the sky and easily avoiding the cannon fire that followed him.

This time, the odds favored the Autobot and his pets. But next time, perhaps, Carrion would see justice done. Next time, his processor would be clear, the pain and horror that caused him to hesitate put aside.

But for now, as he flew away from the fight and the wreck of his Commander, he let the hurt envelop him, stressing his spark as if to break it. He felt aimless and ungrounded, the image of the other jet crumpling to the ground replaying itself over and over in his processor.

Later, he would find justice, a way to even the score.

For now, there was only the open sky and this terrible agony, promising forever on the worst possible terms.


End file.
